Why I must come out | Geena Rocero

The world makes you something that you're not,

but you know inside what you are,

and that question burns in your heart:

How will you become that?

I may be somewhat unique in this,

but I am not alone,

not alone at all.

So when I became a fashion model,

I felt that I'd finally achieved the dream

that I'd always wanted since I was a young child.

My outside self finally matched my inner truth,

my inner self.

For complicated reasons which I'll get to later,

when I look at this picture,

at that time I felt like, Geena, you've done it,

you've made it,

you have arrived.

But this past October,

I realized that I'm only just beginning.

All of us are put in boxes by our family,

by our religion,

by our society,

our moment in history,

even our own bodies.

Some people have the courage to break free,

not to accept the limitations imposed by

the color of their skin

or by the beliefs of those that surround them.

Those people are always the threat

to the status quo,

to what is considered acceptable.

In my case, for the last nine years,

some of my neighbors,

some of my friends, colleagues, even my agent,

did not know about my history.

I think, in mystery, this is called the reveal.

Here is mine.

I was assigned boy at birth

based on the appearance of my genitalia.

I remember when I was five years old

in the Philippines walking around our house,

I would always wear this t-shirt on my head.

And my mom asked me,

"How come you always wear that t-shirt on your head?"

I said, "Mom, this is my hair. I'm a girl."

I knew then how to self-identify.

Gender has always been considered a fact,

immutable,

but we now know it's actually more fluid,

complex and mysterious.

Because of my success, I never had the courage

to share my story,

not because I thought what I am is wrong,

but because of how the world treats those of us

who wish to break free.

Every day,

I am so grateful because I am a woman.

I have a mom and dad and family

who accepted me for who I am.

Many are not so fortunate.

There's a long tradition in Asian culture

that celebrates the fluid mystery of gender.

There is a Buddhist goddess of compassion.

There is a Hindu goddess, hijra goddess.

So when I was eight years old,

I was at a fiesta in the Philippines celebrating

these mysteries.

I was in front of the stage,

and I remember, out comes this beautiful woman

right in front of me,

and I remember that moment something hit me:

That is the kind of woman I would like to be.

So when I was 15 years old,

still dressing as a boy,

I met this woman named T.L.

She is a transgender beauty pageant manager.

That night she asked me,

"How come you are not joining the beauty pageant?"

She convinced me that if I joined

that she would take care of the registration fee

and the garments,

and that night,

I won best in swimsuit

and best in long gown

and placed second runner up

among 40-plus candidates.

That moment changed my life.

All of a sudden, I was introduced

to the world of beauty pageants.

Not a lot of people could say that your first job

is a pageant queen for transgender women,

but I'll take it.

So from 15 to 17 years old, I joined

the most prestigious pageant

to the pageant where it's at the back of the truck, literally,

or sometimes it would be a pavement next to a rice field,

and when it rains --

it rains a lot in the Philippines --

the organizers would have to move it

inside someone's house.

I also experienced the goodness of strangers,

especially when we would travel

in remote provinces in the Philippines.

But most importantly, I met

some of my best friends in that community.

In 2001,

my mom, who had moved to San Francisco,

called me and told me that my green card petition came through,

that I could now move to the United States.

I resisted it.

I told my mom, "Mom, I'm having fun.

I'm here with my friends,

I love traveling, being a beauty pageant queen."

But then two weeks later she called me, she said,

"Did you know that if you move to the United States

you could change your name and gender marker?"

That was all I needed to hear.

My mom also told me to put two E's

in the spelling of my name.

She also came with me when I had my surgery

in Thailand at 19 years old.

It's interesting, in some of the most rural cities in Thailand,

they perform some of the most prestigious,

safe and sophisticated surgery.

At that time in the United States,

you needed to have surgery

before you could change your name and gender marker.

So in 2001, I moved to San Francisco,

and I remember looking at my California driver's license

with the name Geena

and gender marker F.

That was a powerful moment.

For some people,

their I.D. is their license to drive

or even to get a drink,

but for me, that was my license to live,

to feel dignified.

All of a sudden, my fears were minimized.

I felt that I could conquer my dream

and move to New York and be a model.

Many are not so fortunate.

I think of this woman named Islan Nettles.

She's from New York, she's a young woman

who was courageously living her truth,

but hatred ended her life.

For most of my community,

this is the reality in which we live.

Our suicide rate is nine times higher

than that of the general population.

Every November 20,

we have a global vigil

for Transgender Day of Remembrance.

I'm here at this stage

because it's a long history of people who fought

and stood up for injustice.

This is Marsha P. Johnson and Sylvia Rivera.

Today, this very moment,

is my real coming out.

I could no longer live my truth

for and by myself.

I want to do my best to help others

live their truth without shame and terror.

I am here, exposed,

so that one day there will never be a need

for a November 20 vigil.

My deepest truth allowed me to accept who I am.

Will you?

Thank you very much.

(Applause)

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. (Applause)

Kathryn Schulz: Geena, one quick question for you.

I'm wondering what you would say,

especially to parents,

but in a more broad way, to friends,

to family, to anyone who finds themselves

encountering a child or a person

who is struggling with and uncomfortable with

a gender that's being assigned them,

what might you say

to the family members of that person

to help them become good and caring and kind

family members to them?

Geena Rocero: Sure. Well, first, really, I'm so blessed.

The support system, with my mom especially,

and my family, that in itself

is just so powerful.

I remember every time I would coach

young trans women, I would mentor them,

and sometimes when they would call me

and tell me that their parents can't accept it,

I would pick up that phone call and tell my mom,

"Mom, can you call this woman?"

And sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, so —

But it's just, gender identity

is in the core of our being, right?

I mean, we're all assigned gender at birth,

so what I'm trying to do

is to have this conversation that

sometimes that gender assignment doesn't match,

and there should be a space

that would allow people to self-identify,

and that's a conversation that we should have

with parents, with colleagues.

The transgender movement,

it's at the very beginning,

to compare to how the gay movement started.

There's still a lot of work that needs to be done.

There should be an understanding.

There should be a space of curiosity

and asking questions,

and I hope all of you guys will be my allies.

KS: Thank you. That was so lovely. GR: Thank you.

(Applause)